


i'll look after you

by goreyer



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marco is depressed, Mario is scared, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-21 00:43:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13729503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goreyer/pseuds/goreyer
Summary: Marco was going to do it, eventually. The apprehension was gnawing at his bones, tearing what little flesh there was away until he was left with nothing but his feelings. And they were faltering too.That is until a savior finds him.





	1. when i'm losing my control, the city spins around

Marco thought that jumping from the building of a counselling firm was the ultimate irony. The place that offered him no help whatsoever would ultimately be the platform for him to end his life. It was as simple as letting go of all his inhibitions and subsequently the bar behind him. He had already stepped over the barrier and was teetering on the edge, one hand on the bar and one by his side, feeling the cold wind blow through his fingers. Maybe it would be the last time he felt that, so he relished it. He always hated the wind, it blew his hair this way and that so it looked even more unkempt than usual. But at that moment, he loved it. It gave him the opportunity to feel something - even if it was the cold - for the first time in a long time. 

That sounded stupid, really. He had felt a number of emotions for a while. Hatred. Loathing. Depression. The list of deprecating emotions could list on and on, he had looked up countless synonyms to try and find the right word to describe how he was feeling. In truth, it was a mix of a couple: hopelessness and fear mainly. He could list more, lots more, but those two fit his mood.

To an outside party, it wasn't as if he was always sad. He came across as friendly but shy, always keeping to the background with an awkward smile, but always there to talk to. And yet, Marco hated talking to people. He was constantly on edge in case he said something wrong that made it weird or said something rude that offended the other person. So he kept his mouth shut. He spoke when spoken to but didn't open his mouth for anything else. It was just how he felt comfortable living his life. You can't offend anyone if you don't say anything, can you?

Still, it wasn't as if many people tried to contact him anyway. His friends from school had all got jobs and families now, were moving on with their adult lives leaving Marco to slip into a permanent state of loneliness. No one ever messaged him. He was constantly left out of post-school gatherings and never invited to any parties or those weird brunches that people around his age were seemingly addicted to. No. He sat home by himself, staring at the ceiling until it got dark. Then again until it got light. He didn't sleep often. Most nights he laid awake thinking about all the inconveniences he must've caused people in his years of existence. 

Another gust of wind blew through his hair and it was beginning to annoy him now. What was he talking about earlier when he said he loved the wind. His mind was playing tricks on him obviously, he clearly wasn't thinking straight. 

"Oh fuck." The sound of the roof door opening and closing was met with the voice of a young man. "Shit are you going to jump? Please don't I-I... That's not the right thing to do."

Marco almost laughed out loud.

"What do you mean it's not the right thing to do? It's the only way to stop feeling what I'm feeling." Marco replied without turning round to face this man.

"I-It's not, I promise! There's a good life out there waiting for you I promise." The mans voice was shaking more than Marco's and he wasn't the one standing on the edge of a 12 story building.

"I've been looking for that good life for a long time now, mate, I don't think it's coming."

"It is! Trust me. A-and I know you shouldn't feel inclined to trust me, because hell, even I don't trust myself, but please just trust me. Life is shit right now but there are people who love you and cherish you and will miss you and don't lie to me and say there isn't because I know there is, and even if everyone who you ever cared for is dead, know that I care about you okay? Trust me, I care, and if you don't believe me-" a shuffle of footsteps were heard and the man appeared next to Marco, swinging his legs over the barrier and standing on the edge of the building with him, "then why would I risk my life for you." The man took Marco's right hand in his own and clasped it tight.

At the sudden contact, Marco whipped his head around and stared in shock. Mainly because of the action but also because the man standing next to him was quite possibly the most gorgeous man Marco had ever seen. From just one look at him, Marco's new favourite colour was brown - the kind of brown that danced in the sunlight and glistened with every sunbeam that brushed the surface. His hair was brown, his eyes were brown, his eyebrows that were tightly knitted together in fear were brown. Marco had never seen such a glorious colour. 

"Are you stupid?" Marco managed to murmur, still encapsulated by this mans appearance. 

"Yes, very. Hi. My name is Mario." The now named Adonis-lookalike said with a shaky smile that didn't at all look like he was enjoying the situation. 

"Why are you doing this, Mario? Do you have nothing better to do than try and help suicidal adults?" Marco replied.

"What's your name?"

"Did you not hear my qu-"

Mario interrupted quickly, "what's your name?"

"Marco."

A smile graced Mario's face slowly, reaching all the way up to his eyes as they crinkled. "That's a nice name."

Marco tried to control his emotions as they suddenly welled up almost painfully in his chest at the simplest compliment from this complete stranger. Compassion. Care. That sickly feeling of a crush developing when you were a young teenager. That one in particular. Marco needed to get himself under control, Mario was perfect. Too perfect for him to ever have a chance with. 

That was pretty much the story of Marco's life. Everyone being too good for him. He hadn't had a girlfriend for a long time, in fact he hadn't had a long term one since he was in his teens and those don't really count do they? Perhaps it was a mix of his social ineptitude and the question of his sexuality. He knew he wasn't the straightest person in the world (perfectly illustrated by how infatuated he was with Mario) but he wasn't gay. There was no way he was gay. He liked women, girls, vagina. He just wasn't completely straight. 

Mario's eyes locked onto Marco's and the brown depths attempted to probe deeper into Marco's hazel. But by now Marco was so experienced at throwing up a wall in front of his emotions that he looked almost fine in front of most people. 

"Do you want to talk to me about anything?" Mario asked, squeezing Marco's hand gently in encouragement. 

Marco shrugged halfheartedly, "not really." 

"Are you sure? I may not be the best person in the world to give advice but I'm good at listening." 

Marco shook his head and continued to look out into the tops of buildings in his eye-line. Why hadn't he jumped already? Surely if he was dead he would feel no guilt over dragging Mario with him - ghosts can't feel emotions can they? It was ridiculous; he had his whole plan written down about how he would jump from the building of a counselling firm to complete an act of perfect irony and also end his suffering, so why was he still here? With his hand wrapped around another mans? Marco didn't have the answer - he just kept staring off to the tops of the buildings. 

He was going to do it now. No more pissing about. He was going to step forward and let go of the barrier, letting the course of gravity pull himself down. The first step was removing his hand from the barrier without drawing too much attention to himself - whilst he was pretty sure Mario was lying when he said he cared about him, he really didn't want to have to be saved by another man, especially one who he didn't know and assumed only found him suicidal and unapproachable. 

Slowly, he untangled his fingers from the bar and stood with his toes teetering off the edge, hand not in the grasp of his companion stock still by his side ready for the wind to blow his limps this way and that as he tumbled down from the building to his death. Marco subconsciously shuffled forward and was about to take the final step when Mario pulled him back violently; so much so that they both almost fell together. Instead, Marco was pushed up against the barrier and Mario left with one foot on the building and one floating dangerously in the air. However, despite his predicament, the shorter boy leaped at Marco and wrestled with him until he was on the safe side of the barrier, feet finally on steady ground.

"Why would you do that?" Marco yelled, fighting to stand up, but Mario kept dragging him down.

"Because I care about you and I don't want you to die!" Mario replied, huffing and puffing like he was on the verge of a panic attack. 

Marco scoffed, "can you stop saying that! It's obvious you don't care about me otherwise you'd have let me done it."

"I care about you enough to know your life is precious and worth living and if it for some reason isn't or you believe it isn't then I will do everything in my power to make it worth living. I know I don't look like much a-and you probably find me annoying and repetitive and awkward but I can make you happy. I promise."

Marco fought to say something but the words that had left Mario's lips rendered him speechless. Above him was one of the most attractive people he had ever met in his life, and for once he actually seemed to care. Perhaps it was only a facade to stop Marco from jumping and when they parted ways they'd never see each other again, but something in Mario's brown eyes told Marco that he was safe with him. And just like that, Marco burst into tears. 

It wasn't just any normal cry, it was the kind of cry you'd muster up when you were 5 and had just fallen off your scooter. Full of sniffles and gasps and bloodshot eyes. Marco wept seamlessly, trying to cover his face with his hands so Mario couldn't be intimidated by his awful appearance. When Marco's eyes were open all he saw was Mario looking over him, breaths coming out in rapid gasps as if he actually was having a panic attack. However as much as he was worried about Mario's state of being, he couldn't seem to move - his muscles were screaming out in protest as if they had already prepared themselves for falling off the building and were refusing to move. 

As his crying began to slowly subside and he managed to take a couple of deep breaths, Marco sat up suddenly and took Mario into his arms. He needed comfort. He wouldn't usually be so upfront, but something about Mario was like home to him - the home he never had but always wanted. 

It took a moment for Mario to reciprocate, but when he did, Marco had never felt so whole in his life. Mario's arms were strong and protective and the way they snaked around his waist, fingers softly drawing shapes on Marco's hips made tears threaten to breach the barriers of his tear ducts again. But he held strong and just buried deeper into his saviors arms; inhaling the scent of his aftershave as it wafted in and out of his nostrils.

It had seemed like an hour before they broke apart, Mario softened his grip and pulled away slowly, as if afraid Marco was going to make a move for the barrier again.

"C-can I take you back to your home?" Mario asked, one hand still drawing shapes on Marco's side.

Marco nodded slowly, not really wanting to leave where they were, but he was beginning to feel like an inconvenience. 

And so as languidly as he possibly good, Mario began to lift Marco to his feet, steadying him when he rocked from side to side a few times, the adrenaline still coursing heavily through his veins.

"We can take my car if you like." Marco murmured, shuffling his feet and trying to avoid eye contact. 

Mario's eyes widened slightly and fear flashed across his vision for a quick second, but he regained composure, "y-yeah. Okay. Sure, that's fine. My cars at home anyway. B-but I can't let you drive, you have to understand that, right?"

"No that's fine. You don't want me to deliberately crash it, I get you." Marco sighed softly.

"W-well I didn't think you would but I'm worried you're not in the right physical state to drive. It's nothing to do with your mental state, promise." Mario lied through his teeth.

Marco nodded nonetheless and followed Mario down the fire escape stairs he never imagined he'd be walking down again.

 

It didn't look as though there was going to be any irony today. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. you're the only one who knows, you slow it down

Marco watched intently as Mario fiddled with the wing mirror of his car, feet tapping almost obnoxiously quick on the floor underneath the wheel and Marco was in two minds of asking Mario if he was okay, but he decided against it. He hates people asking if he was okay. Mainly because he doesn't want to get into every single underlying issue he's been holding secret for the past few years. He wasn't ready for that, perhaps not yet anyway.

They said counselling would help; get things off his mind and help try and bring happiness into his life again. But it was so long since Marco had felt actually truly happy, and he was beginning to forget what the emotion felt like. He desperately wanted to feel a positive emotion for once, but it was as if his body doesn't know what they are anymore, and so just ignores the endorphins that rise whenever something that would normally make someone smile occurs to Marco.

Nevertheless, he keeps his fake smile ready on his face. He shows it to shop owners, friends, family, teachers, his therapist; they all buy into it. They never question the legitimacy of the action and it was probably for the better, for if you looked hard enough you could see the smile was worn at the edges. It showed too much teeth, an awkward mix of lopsided and curved and looked as though it had been pried into that position by needy hands determined to conceal how broken Marco was inside.

He was a machine. A broken machine but one no one ever bothered to fix because it had been broken for so long and could never really be fixed. Sure, it could keep trundling along at a lumbering pace until it eventually met its premature demise, but no one cares enough to fix it, and even if they did it was near impossible to restore the machine to its starting point. And that was Marco. Too far gone to ever be brought back to the happiness of his early teenage years. 

Mario jolted him out of his self-deprecating thoughts by turning the engine on. By now, Marco could see sweat droplets lining the shorter mans temples and it certainly wasn't because of the temperature - the car itself was pretty cold having being left out in the elements whilst Marco went to jump and the outside was even colder. Again, Marco wanted to ask him if he was alright, but he was beginning to feel like a burden just by sitting there, even though it was his own car. 

With an audible sigh, Mario started driving, navigating at a very slow pace around the nearest roundabout that led onto a long stretch of road that was a good few miles long and led almost straight to Marco's house. 

The journey was filled with a deafening silence that suited both parties; Marco didn't want to talk about what he was going to do and Mario looked to be too focused on the road to speak even a single word. And so, Marco's source of entertainment came from the outside world. He watched the trees flash by like small splashes of paint on a canvas and although bare with the winter weather, they stood proud and created such a lovely backdrop to his abysmal mood. 

They were nearing the end of the road when Marco brought his conscience back to the road and not the trees dotted along it. There was one small junction left to pass before they took a sharp left and were practically on Marco's street. 

The journey was lucky to have no traffic up to that point, but there were a number of queues trying to get onto the long stretch of road from the left and right sides of the junction. Mario drove up cautiously and upon triple checking that it was in fact his right of way, pulled out of the junction. One of the cars in the queue to the left stalled suddenly, still staying far behind the line but causing Mario to swerve dangerously out of the way, despite no danger from the other car. 

Mario managed to regain composure and avoid crashing into anything, escaping with nothing but a few horns blaring at him. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, I'm so sorry, Marco. Oh my god I'm so sorry I'm such an idiot I could've got us killed. I honestly could've got us killed I am so fucking sorry Marco." Mario half-shouted, hands gripping the steering wheel so tight the knuckles were beginning to turn white. His breathing was slowly growing more rapid and he looked to be on the verge of tears.

"It's fine, Mario hon-" Marco began.

"No it's not fine, Marco! I c-could've swerved a-and hit a car on the other side of the road and killed us and the other people I'm so fucking stupid why am I doing this." Mario pulled into a lay-by and rested his head on the steering wheel. 

Marco wanted to lay a hand on the shorter mans back but he thought Mario would find it weird. "But you didn't. That car shouldn't have stalled, like how do you even stall when you're parked? It's fucking stupid that's what it is. Everyone makes mistakes like these when driving, its completely normal. Have you been driving long?"

"This is the first time I've been in a car for over half a year." Mario turned ghost-white.

"Why's that?"

"I was in a car accident." 

Marco's breath hitched and it suddenly became apparent to him why Mario was checking his mirrors so intently, why he was sweating so profusely, why he was refusing to talk. Marco had just made Mario face one of his greatest fears and he felt awful. It was no longer the fear of him becoming a burden, it was more the fear of him causing Mario physical and emotional instability. He hadn't experienced PTSD first hand, but his therapist had mentioned it a few times so he was familiar of the concept and he knew how crippling the anxiety could become.

Mario turned his eyes to Marco for the first time since they got in the car and they were brimming with tears. Marco felt sick. This man had just saved his life and he repaid him by reliving one of the most traumatic experiences of his life. 

"I'm so sorry Mario. I forced you into doing this I practically gave you no choice, this is  _my_ fault. I'm sorry you had to go through this I'm an awful person and you probably hate me now." Marco rushed his words, feeling the hole he was digging himself grow slowly and slowly deeper.

Mario shrugged, still staring at Marco despite the taller man failing to maintain eye contact; "I should've said something. You shouldn't blame yourself when you didn't know anything about it."

Marco could see reason in his words, but they didn't correct the self-deprecating words in Marco's brain. All he could think about is how much pain he must've caused Mario in their short 10 minute car ride - probably more than he had ever felt in his life. All because he was too selfish to kill himself when he had the chance. Before Mario had made it onto the roof, he had been there for a while. He had so much time and opportunity to jump and end his suffering but he didn't. And now he was becoming the inconvenience of more people.

He hated people seeing him cry. It showed the vulnerability he tried so desperately to hide. And so, when he felt the tears sting his retinas, he jumped out of the car without a word, trying not to listen as Mario screamed his name in such a fearful tone Marco almost believed he cared about him. The wind hit him like a punch and he screamed into the air, cursing everything he could : the wind, the birds flying above his head, the clouds crowding over as the perfect sign of pathetic fallacy, the cars driving past.

"Marco!" Mario's voice tried to breach his mental block. "Please don't try anything, I'm begging you."

Marco's tears were in a race to see which drop could hit the ground fastest, cascading faster and faster as he continued screaming. He only stopped when a pair of arms wrapped around his side, pulling him closer and closer until their chests were pressed tightly together and he was gripped in a vice-like grip.

"Leave me be." Marco sobbed, trying to wriggle out of Mario's grip, but the shorter man was much stronger and he held onto him for dear life.

"No, Marco. Please. Let me help you. I can help you, I can make you better, I can make you see there's a good life out there for you. Please let me show you that."

"You can't promise that! You can't help me! Just let me go, I'm only going to make your life worse and you'll see that." Marco fought restlessly.

Mario pulled back to place his hands on Marco's cheeks, hiding the blush that was beginning to paint over the taller mans cheeks.

"I will do anything in my power to help you, Marco.  _I'll look after you._ "

 

 

Marco smiled properly - albeit a small smile - for the first time in four years.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
